She had woken up early after she had the best sleep she’d had in a long while, showered, then headed to the bank. Withdrawing her money had gone down without a hitch, making it easy to leave some behind at the hotel while she’d kept enough aside with which to bribe the cellmate into telling her where the painting was.

  Conscious of the cash she had stuffed inside the pockets of her jacket, she straightened the bulges it made around her midriff and pulled the zip higher toward her neck.

  As she waited for the train to leave the station, she picked at her pastry, studying the passengers who rushed onto the train. It wouldn’t hurt to remain vigilant.

  The line was a popular one, with the route ending in Bern just short of two hours later. Once at her destination, she’d grab a taxi to drop her a block away from where she’d need to be, and, if all went well and the ex-con took her bribe, she should be back at her hotel by mid afternoon to strategize the heist.

  Hope filled her and the prospect of it all working out and getting Ben back safely brought a slight smile to her lips. She could do this. She wasn’t too old and she hadn’t forgotten her skills. She could finally put it to use for the greater good and put her past behind her, start over with Ben and with God.

  * * *

  Her plan had so far gone down smoothly, and Jorja soon found herself a block away from the address she strong-armed out of Gustav’s parole officer. The taxi driver had reluctantly dropped her off as she asked, but he had urged her to reconsider her request. According to him the area was one of the rougher suburbs of Switzerland’s capital city, known to be one where gangs frequented and trouble was never far away. But, regardless of the risks the driver proceeded to warn her of, Jorja had insisted that she would be fine and stepped out onto the white concrete sidewalk. Although she had every intention not to use it, she had fastened the small revolver to her ankle, concealing it beneath her denim jeans while she left the larger gun in her luggage at the hotel. Upon first glance, the suburb didn’t look half as bad as the taxi driver had described it, but once she turned the corner and walked down the next street, she suddenly felt as if a million eyes were upon her.

  And her instincts weren’t far off when she was soon confronted by three men who blocked her way. Not wanting any trouble, she attempted to cross to the other side of the road, only to have them do the same. Two more thugs joined the men, and, like wolves descending on a carcass, more poured from the houses out onto the sidewalks around her. Determined not to show the fear that made her limbs tremble, she pushed her hands deeper inside her pockets to where they pressed up against the wads of cash that were concealed inside her jacket. Surrounded by gangsters, she stopped in the middle of the road, suddenly regretting the decision to leave her higher capacity gun at the hotel.

  * * *

  From the row of dilapidated housing, a few lowlifes stood outside on their porches and steps, snickering back and forth as they watched the display of intimidation play off in the street. Whistles of flirtation echoed into the air, tempting her to start running in fear, but she stood firm, carefully assessing each of her threats. One of the men lunged forward then receded again between his peers in a mocking attempt to scare her. But, in spite of the fact that her heart threatened to explode in her chest, her body remained still and unshaken. The lack of reaction toward his intimidation taunts had the man instantly flush with embarrassment before his eyes fearfully trailed to a man who stood leaning against a post on his porch. His face and exposed parts of his neck and hands were entirely covered in tattoos, the sheer volume of it making it seem as if he had a green-tinged second skin beneath his clothing. Of average build, he didn’t look threatening, but it was very evident from the watchful glances he got that he was indeed the ringleader of the pack.

  Having established the source of the gang’s power, Jorja resorted to intimidation tactics of her own and turned her sights toward him instead. The slight flicker in his eyes and change of stance told her that he hadn’t intended on being figured out, giving her the confirmation of his authoritarian position that she was looking for. She held her silent gaze, squared her shoulders, and waited.

  The crowd of subordinates grew louder, desperate to deflect the attention away from their leader. But Jorja ignored them and turned to face their leader head on. As if pledging their allegiance to him by putting on a show, the three men slowly moved in on her.

  Still, Jorja held her position, because showing fear and vulnerability were what men like these preyed upon and she refused to be intimidated in giving them what they wanted. Instead, in the quiet corners of her soul, she asked God to protect her, to help her, to settle the fear that weighed so heavily in her heart.

  When the men were upon her, the largest of the three attempted to stroke the back of her head. Without warning, Jorja’s arm twisted around his forearm, immobilizing him by simultaneously forcing his fingers back until he squealed in pain. With his head now facing her feet, she, thrust her knee into his jaw, leaving behind a large cut on his mouth. She pushed him back against his posse, who didn’t hesitate to take a few steps back. One raised his small fists in front of his face, the other revealed his switchblade. Undeterred by the threatening position the thugs held over her, Jorja stood her ground, her eyes fixed on the ringleader instead. A slight nod from him told his men to go at her again. They did. First the larger one whose arm she nearly broke, then the guy carrying the knife. It would take a calculated forceful move, but he was the easiest to fight off and, while ducking the large one’s oncoming fist, she scissor-kicked the blade from his hands, then followed with a quick shoe in his face that left his nose broken and bleeding. As soon as the larger one came at her again, she once more avoided his fist before the base of her palm smashed below the goatee on his chin. His head thrust back and she finished him off by driving a flat hand, pinkie side first, into his Adam’s apple. Gasping for air and gagging, he stumbled back, shoving the smallest of the three thugs out of the way in the process.

  When the trio surrendered by crawling into hiding, Jorja once again turned her gaze to the gang leader, who’d been watching his men get whipped in less than thirty seconds.

  Fully aware that he hadn’t given any of his other subordinates the go-ahead to attack her, Jorja tipped her head forward in the slightest of nods before she pushed past the defeated opponents and proceeded to walk along the street. Behind her, laughter at the three losers broke out and she instantly knew she had won the battle. She held her steady gait, forcing herself not to look back. She had done the impossible. They had backed away, even though she knew they could have easily drawn on their numbers and killed her. When she was a fair distance away and out of their crosshairs, she stopped for the first time, realizing her victory was nothing short of a David and Goliath moment, and that through divine intervention, God had stepped in and she had escaped unharmed. She thanked God for his protection, drew on the confidence it gave her, and vowed to never doubt Him again.

  * * *

  When she neared the house, she paused on the sidewalk. She had spotted the front door that stood ajar. The house looked like it was in dire need of repairs. It was missing a few roof tiles, some floorboards on the steps and porch were broken, and almost all of the gray paint on the timber walls was stripped away. She looked up and down the street. Apart from the silver blue sedan that stood opposite the neighbor’s house, there were only a few cars parked further down the road. The street was completely quiet.

  Behind her, a dreary-looking German Shepherd suddenly barked and she looked back to find it wrestling against the chain that fastened him to a hook in the ground, his focus aimed at something to her left. She ignored it and turned her attention back to the house that remained undisturbed as a feeling of unrest came over her. Her hand found the piece of paper with the address on in her pocket and she quickly checked that she had the correct address. She did, so she proceeded to walk up the short garden path and onto the small porch.

  To her left, a noise sounded from the narrow gateway on the side of the house, and she stopped to listen. She could hear movement and faint whispers. She held back from going onto the small porch towards the front door and waited, heard the gate swing open.

  Then, she saw them.

  Chapter Twelve

  Two men ran alongside the house, past the edge of the porch where they stopped and crouched down. They were an odd pair. One tall and athletic with pitch black hair, while the other was the exact opposite with flaxen hair, much shorter in height, and beefy in build. At first they didn’t see her, but then one spotted her. He looked up, his sunflower blond hair blowing away from his face in the light breeze to expose his bushy, fair eyebrows and startled eyes. For the briefest of seconds he locked eyes with Jorja, and she saw something familiar in them. His demeanor told her there was more to the encounter than the obvious surprise that came with her presence when he quickly hid behind his partner’s tall frame. Their voices raised, an anxious exchange of words between them had them darting down the short driveway and into the silver blue car that was parked opposite the street. As they sped off, Jorja searched for the vehicle’s license plate but found that it didn’t have one. Now, more convinced than ever, Jorja knew something was amiss. At first she thought of running, for fear of what she might find inside, but then she knew she couldn’t turn away empty handed. This was her only lead to finding the painting and she had to chance it.

  Careful not to touch the doorknob, she pushed the wood with the nose of her shoe until the gap was big enough for her to slip through. The door creaked on its hinges but, once inside, the house was eerily silent.

  She allowed herself to take in the cramped space around her. Unable to move two feet without stepping on something, it was clear that there had been a struggle, or that the men were looking for something. Could it be that she merely stumbled upon a burglary, or were they there for the same reason she was?

  Moving around the single brown velour sofa that stood sideways and out of place in the room, she walked throughout the small house in search of the man she’d come there to see. The kitchen was a mess and the putrid smell that permeated from it briefly had her catch her breath as she passed through it. Dirty dishes covered every surface space while the fridge stood ajar exposing nothing but a dozen or so beers and a pizza box. Strewn throughout the floor, all the drawers and their contents lay on the black-and-white tiled floor. They were definitely searching for something, she concluded.

  She moved down the small, dark passage, but there was still no sign of anyone else inside the house. But when she stepped over the threshold of the master bedroom at the end of the hallway, all that changed in an instant.

  The mutilated body of a man, whom she could only assume was the one she’d come there to see, lay across the bed. A sight of torture so ghastly that she had to make a run for the bathroom to rid herself of the sick that could not be held down. When she was done, she flushed the loo and wiped her fingerprints from the handle before she made her way back to the sitting room. In the far distance she heard police sirens and listened to hear if they were drawing closer.

  They were, and she wasted no time to make a hasty departure. When her feet hit the sidewalk she dashed across the street, briefly glancing at the dog whose incessant barking stung her ears as she passed him. She picked up her pace, conscious of the sirens that grew louder with each passing second. Despair overwhelmed her and nearly made her legs collapse beneath her body. Her only chance of finding the painting and freeing Ben had seeped into the bloodied sheets beneath the cellmate’s dead body. And there was now no way of remedying the situation.

  * * *

  Out in front of her the street stretched into the distance. With houses on either side, there was nowhere to hide. Along with her hopes and plans to get out from the mess she’d made of her life, she was downright trapped.

  Behind her, the police cars screeched to a halt in front of the house. She was only three doors down. If she ran now it would draw suspicion to her. All she could do was blend in with the curious residents who now rushed out into their gardens and onto the street. Deciding it was her only option, she joined a small group of women who had come out of the nearby house and stood in awe speculating over the happenings. They were speaking German, not French, and she had no understanding as to what they were saying. She heard one mention the cellmate’s name and Jorja listened more intently, desperate to comprehend the conversation that ensued. Soon after, the same woman made a call from her bright pink bedazzled mobile phone. When she spoke into the phone she switched to speaking French and Jorja felt the tension instantly leave her stomach in relief that she could now understand what was being discussed.

  The young woman caller’s voice turned gentle as she cautiously told the person on the other end of the phone about the police, then proceeded to tell the recipient to come home. A panicked female voice echoed through the device and Jorja listened as the woman consoled her. When she had ended the call, Jorja took the opportunity to ask the caller if she knew what was going on. Jorja’s French was fluent so none of the women were any wiser that she was an outsider.

  “What’s with all the police?” Jorja asked, sounding as relaxed as she could considering what she had already seen.

  “Not sure, but it must be bad for them to send so many cars. The cops don’t usually bother much with us. We’re apparently more hassle to them than anything else.”

  The girl’s answer was tainted with scorn, as if this type of action was a regular occurrence in the neighborhood.

  “Whose house is it, do you know?”

  “Of course, everyone knows it’s Jürgen’s house. You from out of town?”

  “Yes, I was just passing through,” Jorja quickly said, grateful that her answer seemed to have settled any suspicion.

  “We’ve been telling Ana for months now to stay away from the guy. He’s been nothing but trouble since he got out of jail. But she’s so in love with the deadbeat that she can’t see clearly. Isn’t it the truth, girls?” She invited the other girls’ input who collectively agreed without hesitation.

  “Are they married?” Jorja asked again.

  The girl sucked the air inside her cheek in scoffing. “The stupid girl got engaged to him two weeks ago. I told her it was a mistake, but she’s not listening. They’ve been at it for years, sending letters back and forth when he was still locked up. He did a real number on her if you ask me.”

  They watched as the police started taping off the area in front of the house. A short while later, a pretty girl in her early twenties pulled into the road in a bright yellow Fiat Punto and rushed toward the guarding police officers. Frantic screams erupted as the police told her she shouldn’t go in and that her fiancé was found dead in the house.

  “I’ll go get her,” one of the women next to Jorja shouted back as she already set off toward her.

  “Poor thing,” Jorja seized the moment in a desperate effort to learn more about her. If Ana was indeed Jürgen’s fiancé, and they’d been writing to each other while he was still in prison, there was a good chance he might have shared details about the painting with her. It was worth a shot, she thought.

  But neither of the three women who stood watching their friend cross the street toward them gave her any sort of reply. Their focus wasn’t on frivolous talk anymore. Under the protective embrace of her friend, Jorja watched as Ana walked toward them, tears streaming down her heavily makeup-ed face. As she drew closer and Jorja was able to have a better look at her, it was evident from her attire that she was quite possibly an exotic dancer. Her silver platform stiletto sandals elongated her slim black fishnet-clad legs to where they disappeared under an oversized navy-and-red striped sweater she must have pulled on in her haste to get there. When she allowed the small huddle to welcome her in, her slouchy gold handbag slipped off her arm and fell in a shimmering pile to the ground beneath their feet. Her compassionate circle of friends ushered her toward the house behind them and Jorja scooped the bag from the curb, grateful for the unforeseen opportunity it now presented. As a glimmer of newfound hope flickered on the horizon, Jorja quietly trailed behind as she followed them into the house.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The silver blue sedan raced past the police cars, its drivers grateful that they had managed to escape their pursuit in time. The stocky blond was already dialing the short number on his mobile when they turned the next corner and drove toward their getaway.

  The man on the other end answered with a short ‘yes?’ and the blond didn’t hesitate to jump straight into his report.

  “She saw us! She was there,” he said, as he looked back over his shoulder as if someone was chasing after them.

  “Who?” the man on the other end of the line said calmly.

  “The woman, from Züber’s place. She caught us leaving the house.”

  “Did you get what you were supposed to?”

  “What? No, the guy was already dead. It’s not like we can get information from a corpse. And to make things worse, now she’s seen our faces, and I’m a hundred percent sure she recognized me. I could see it in her eyes.”

  “And?”

  “And? The police are already there. We almost got caught. If she tells them about us, they’ll come after us and we go down for a murder we didn’t commit! This wasn’t the plan. I’m not going down for someone else’s crime. You said—”

  “But you didn’t kill the guy so there’s nothing to worry about, right?”

  The blond was suddenly at a loss for words.

  “Sure, but that doesn’t change the fact that she was there. I’ve been doing this a long time and it was no coincidence that she was there. What aren’t you telling us? If you’re hiding something, we have a right to know.” The beefy man squared his shoulders as he looked to his friend for support. From behind the wheel the friend nodded in agreement, encouraging his fair-haired friend to stand his ground against their employer.